The Mint Lounge

Sunday afternoon with tables in an
empty beer joint pushed aside, the woman
tending bar read the paper & we fed the

corner juke box dimes for Hank and Patsy.
We played the Unchained Melody & danced
across the sawdust on the floor. A chance

to touch beloved plum-fruit lips & feel
them singing against my neck seems unreal,
or good, somehow, beyond my reason. &

with my tongue to open shadows, I planned
to live my life this way. Beer and plum-fruit,
holding my sweetheart. & the rest was moot.